


Eye of the Storm

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: Key & Peele (TV), Vandaveon & Mike
Genre: Anal Sex, Drug Use, M/M, Mentions of Sex Toys, Profanity, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 06:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2641478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The wind picks up and Mike is encompassed by a sandstorm as he leaves, a tornado of wind and dust and fragments of ancient rock circulating around him; Mike’s the eye of the storm."</p>
<p>Van misses being PAs (aka Pen Assassins) on the set of Key & Peele, but he's still seeking the thrill of comedy. He gets himself in trouble at work which gives him some time to think about the consequences of his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the latest Vandaveon & Mike episode where they get fired from Key & Peele's show.

Vandaveon and Mike sit at their scanning stations, back to back. It’s the slow hour of the day at the airport and work is feeling pretty monotonous compared to being Pen Assassins on the set of _Key and Peele_. It’s their first day back at the airport since they got fired from those ungrateful dickheads’ show and it already feels like nothing changed while they were gone. Same old shitty and broken ‘state of the art’ equipment, same old glass rooves that bear the sun down on your back like a magnifying glass. Same old staff politics still at play. Whenever their supervisor, Tammy, is out of the office, Edward, a supervisor from a different section of security marches in with the intent of glaring at Van and Mike from within the glass office. That legitimately seems to be what he does with his time at work. It used to be unnerving but now it’s just fucking annoying.

“That pig nosed motherfucker’s watching us again,” Van grumbles over his shoulder.

Mike grunts in reply. The suitcase he’s scanning is a little overweight, but he passes it anyway. The woman who owns it struggles to pick it up, prompting Mike to scoot off his chair and help her lift it off the conveyer belt. The woman smiles warmly at Mike and then wheels off her luggage towards the lounge area. Mike heaves himself back down into his chair and ignores Van’s rolling eyes.

Van throws a snarky comment over his shoulder, “show off,” and goes back to scanning his section of the luggage.

After a few minutes Van glances over his shoulder and his eyes immediately meet Edward’s sharp glare, prompting to go swiftly back to his work. He picks at the keyboard, trying to pick off the letter D.

“Fuck this is so boring man,” Van says, hanging his head on the back of his chair, “dude I’m feeling seriously under-utilised right now. Like I’m not working my brain hard enough for jokes and shit, I’m gonna lose it.”

Expecting a reply, Van swivels around and kicks the back of Mike’s chair with his foot.

“Aye, the fuck?” Mike grunts, shuffling in closer to his desk in retaliation, then adds, “dick-bag.”

“ _Dick-bag_?” Van barks.

Edward stabs a finger against the glass window pointedly at Vandaveon, making him jump. The sound is surprisingly loud and Van has to wonder if Edward’s trying to break his fingers.

“The fuck is his problems?” Van says, turning back around to the scanners.

A woman effortlessly places a bag on the conveyer belt and Van thinks nothing of it. He can usually tell if a bag’s going to be overweight by how the passenger places the bag on the belt but this time something’s off with what’s coming up on the x-ray. The screen just shows a giant black rectangle, red numbers flashing at the side of the screen indicating that it’s majorly overweight. He sighs and pulls the passenger and her luggage, which is ridiculously heavy, to the examination station. He knows he’s going to hold everyone up who’s waiting behind her but this is the only fun part of the job. Besides, this is what passengers get for pretending to have light bags.

“Ma’am I’m gonna have to ask you to take at least 2kg out of your luggage or we won’t let you past this point,” Van says in a gruff voice, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.

He folds his arms as the woman gives him the dirty, then proceeds to unzip her bag. It’s chokers full of books, and she pauses before taking anything out.

“Hurry up, you’re keeping everyone else up and whatnot,” Van says nodding toward the line of people looking grumpy behind the scanning station.

“But I need everything!”

“Here we go,” Van whispers, mentally rubbing his hands together, “is that so _Ma’am_? I’ll just have to choose what you don’ts need for you.”

Van leans over and starts prying out the well packed books, taking out the whole series of _A Song of Ice and Fire_.

The woman starts to grab for the books but Van puts them aside in the overflow container, “Ma’am, trust me, you don’ts need this shit. I mean it’s good, but it’s stupid. It could be funnier you know. This shits is too serious!” he starts to speak louder, trying to catch Mike’s attention, “has too much tits when it coulds have _way_ more dicks am I right Mike?”

Mike’s shoulders start shuddering and Van can tell he’s trying to hold it in, “And don’ts even get me started on the TV show girl. That second last episode of season 4 and whatnot, where it was just Jon Snowballs all fucking episode. Mike do you remember that bullshit? There wasn’ts even a single dick in that episode, they could’ve–” Van looks back toward the girl, “now me and my bro Mike we’ve critiqued this already and whatnot, we just haven’ts as of yet made it into one of our videos so this is _exclusive_ Vandaveon and Mike critiquing you’re hearing right now, got it? So you know in that episode they gots like the wildling motherfuckers all coming up the walls and shit, you know what would’ve made the show _so_ much funnier? They could’ve had like the night watch black brotherhood guys or whatnot just hang their dicks along the wall and when the wildlings climb up they grab onto their dicks!”

Mike unleashes his laughter, fuelling Vandaveon on, “and then there’s that motherfucking giant in the tunnel and instead of like whipping out their swords and shit they just should’ve all taken out their dicks! No army of dicks is gonna matches up to a _giant ass dick_ am I right Mike? That dude could just – _blip_! – slap ‘em once with his giant ass giant dick and they’d be knocked out!”

“Cocked out!” Mike says, stamping his feet on the ground.

“What was that?” Van says, turning to Mike.

“Cocked out!” Mike repeats, a little louder and the two of them burst out laughing.

Mike’s stamping and cackling and Van can barely hold himself together as he turns the girl back through the scanner. So they don’t hear it the first time but they definitely hear it the second time, when Edward practically shouts over the loud speaker for them to join him in his office.

 

-

 

Van and Mike stand in front of Edward’s desk like white nerds, straight and nervous, agitated.

“What in the world were you two idiots thinking out there?” Edward asks, slamming his fist on the table.

Van can’t help but think he looks like that teacher from Daria with fucking wide ass eyes, popping out of the sockets, except with the biggest, widest pig nose you’d ever see on a human being.

“I made a gamble hiring you back, you guys were always idiots but never this bad. Mr. Huggins, you swore multiple times in front of passengers and employees. You need to speak respectfully and politely. Behaving the way you did is totally unacceptable in the workplace.”

“We’re sorry,” Mike mumbles, nudging Van.

Vandaveon looks betrayed, “hey man that was comedy _gold_ I spokes out there. That was unprecedented, uncensored, un-fucking heard before Vandaveon and Mike critiquing!”

“Stop-“ Edward interjects but Van continues.

“-That was some great jokes I told – we told – out there, you know and Key and Peele, they made a bad decision firing us, they gonna be so butt hurt-“

“SHUT UP. Just shut up Mr. Huggins. I don’t want to hear it. I understand that working with, who was it-“

“Key and Peele,” Mike offers.

“Pardon? Keep eel? I understand it was your dream to work with them but it didn’t work out and I need you to both be _professionals_ here at the airport alright?” Edward shouts. He’s clearly trying to remain calm but his eyes are bulging out of his sockets, spit flaying from his mouth and he visibly takes a breath as he continues, “you were both good workers before. You came in, did your bit, and you kept your joke making to the videos at _home_. I need that system back in place again _gentlemen_. I cannot afford for you to go off living in a _pipe dream_ again, you’re trained workers, I need you to work _normally_ and keep that ... other kind of talk at home. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Mike nods.

“Yes sir?” Van says, side eyeing his friend.

“I mean it _gentlemen_ , I can’t believe I have to say this to adult human males, but I’m going to have to separate the two of you if you don’t get your act together.”

Van’s eyes go wide, “yes, sir!”

 

-

 

Back at their stations they try and get through the day but the time drags on and Mike’s silence is unsettling Vandaveon.

“Yo why you so quiet? What’s on your mind brother?” Van asks, turning slightly toward his friend.

“The future.”

“Dude – what?” Van asks, scooting beside Mike, but still facing his station. He can multi-task okay?

“The future,” Mike repeats, “Ed’s right. We gotta keep our stuff at home.”

“Our stuff, what stuff?”

“The jokes.”

“Man the jokes are what I _live_ for. I cannots go a second longer in this place without something funny happening to entertain me. You get me?”

“This place is all we gots left. Do the jokes internally bro.”

Van yawns, throwing his arms up above his head, “but dude if there’s something so funny, like such a funny dick joke that I _cannots_ keep it inside my mind I’m gonna tell you. You gotta know I’m going to tell you any dick joke I think of.”

Mike sighs, “maybe why you can’t keep them jokes in your head is because you got a dick on the outside of your head… ‘cause you’re a dickhead.”

Van claps his hands, cackling, “bro you still got it! You still got it!”

A shriek echoes in the room which alerts their attention to Van’s conveyer belt operations. There’s a suitcase that’s toppled over the other side of the conveyer belt, spilling the contents over the floor. A man starts to throw his legs over the conveyer belt so Van stands up, rushes over to him.

“Back the fuck up sir, that equipment’s more expensive than your tailors made suit.”

Van hears cackling from behind him and he turns around to see Mike laughing and pointing at the spilled contents from the passenger’s suitcase. It takes only a second for Van to recognise the variety of coloured and shaped plastic and rubber objects rolling along the ground for what they were.

“Dildos?” Van laughs in a shrill, window breaking laughter.

“Van it’s a dick bag. A literal… bag… of dicks,” Mike wheezes.

Sweaty and nervous, presumably the owner of the bag calls out, “guards please, help me put them back in, my mother’s going to faint if she sees them all!”

Van’s running out of breathable air and he tries to bend over to grab a dick but just the thought of it makes him laugh and he falls to his knees, palms pressing firm on the marble floor and fuck, he can’t breathe, fuck, there are dicks everywhere. He sits back on his heels, hand on his heart as he looks up through the windows on the roof, this is a motherfucking gift from God.

Mike shoves the dildos back in the suitcase and has to sit on it to try and close it because it’s so badly organised. A tip of one sticks out of the suitcase as Mike tries to zip it up and that’s it. That is it for Vandaveon Huggins. He is gone.

 

-

 

Van hunches down in the bus seat, pushing his legs up against the next seat. A business man turns around in his seat but Van looks at him with his best thug look and the business man, in a huff, goes back to being passive. Van fishes out his iPod and plays the volume too loud. It’s that kind of day.

When it’s their stop Mike nudges Van, prompting him out of his daze. The two of them trudge toward their apartment, Van’s headphones slung around his neck, still pumping out music. Van cranes his neck and looks at the apartments as they walk down the street, the evening sun peeping over the edge. There are people sitting out on their verandas, taking in the washing, having a drink. Kids in the street are playing sport, the younger ones playing make believe.

“Dude thanks for taking the fall,” Mike mutters quietly.

Van switches off the music, “huh?”

“Thanks for taking the fall,” Mike repeats.

Van shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, “bro you didn’ts do nothing wrong.”

 

-

 

Van’s already jerked off three times and he still can’t get to sleep. He rolls out of bed and goes to sit on the lounge in front of the computer desk. He picks up the script he left on the table that morning. They had planned to make a comeback _Vandaveon and Mike: Reclamation_ video that night but after getting put on suspension at work, Van didn’t exactly feel like he could even pretend to be in a good mood for the camera. After all, he can’t very well be the one sitting there saying nothing, that’s Mike’s thing.

Van chucks the script back on the table. He drops his head in his hands, knotting his fingers in his hair. He’s got that horrible sick feeling in his stomach and he is legitimately tired but just not sleepy, you know? He can’t stop thinking about what happened at work and it’s not even funny to him anymore. He’s afraid that Mike’s gonna get fired because of him, or what if he isn’t allowed his job back and he can’t work with Mike anymore. That’s worst case scenario because Van’s not exactly going to convince Mike to quit with him. The TSA’s the best paying job either of them ever had and probably they’re ever going to get since being Pen Assassins for _Key & Peele_ isn’t ever going to happen again unless they change their identities.

Change their identity! Van clambers onto the office chair to sit at the computer and immediately starts researching how plausible it could be for them both to do it, after all, it wouldn’t be too hard to get similar pictures since white people think all black people look the same. It would be the finer details that would be the hardest.

After about twenty minutes Van gives up, deciding his research is fruitless. He leans over and pulls out Mike’s bag of weed from the desk drawer and starts rolling a joint. He barely ever smokes, like never ever. It smells funky, reminds him of being a teenager. Everyone he knew smoked weed or another drug of some kind when he was young. Guess people do still now in his adult life but he just doesn’t know as many people, doesn’t talk about recreational drugs with people he knows apart from Mike. The thing with weed was that he never did like losing his sense of clarity, made him feel like he’s having some kind of out of body experience and it weirded him the fuck out. It’s why he steered clear of drugs, hadn’t smoked a cigarette since early 2000s. So it’s actually really surprising when he finds himself lighting up the joint because like, what is he thinking? He’s thinking too much and his body’s doing what it can to help, help his mind stop thinking in a cyclical motion about work and how this suspension is just the first step to getting fired.

Van sets the joint between his lips and takes his first drag, spluttering.

“What’re you doing?” Mike murmurs from the hallway, causing Van to flinch.

“Shit, did I smoke you out?” Van chuckles, the drug in his lungs still causing him to cough like a teenager.

“That’s my weed,” Mike says, shuffling out of the darkness and plopping himself down on the couch behind Van.

“Dude yeah I know I was gonna ask but didn’ts think you were awake.”

Mike clicks his tongue and stretches out on the couch, laying his head on the armrest. He extends his arm to Van’s chair and taps it until Van hands him the joint. Mike takes a long drag, an impossibly long breath and Van reckons he’s gonna see smoke seeping out of his skin, but when he breathes out it’s easy and controlled, natural. Mike breathes the drug like it’s oxygen.

“I don’t wanna go to work tomorrow,” Mike says after a while, passing the joint back to Van.

Van holds the flimsy paper in his fingers and stares at it, ears becoming hot, “call in sick then.”

“Nah it’ll look bad. I’ve gotta go,” Mike says.

Van doesn’t say anything in reply, instead he passes the joint back to Mike, then folds his legs up into a ball on the chair, resting his chin on his knees.

“I’ll go and put on a good show, put in a good word for you,” Mike lifts his head off the couch, “how long you gone for?”

“Two weeks, Edward said. See what Tammy says though.”

“Fuck that’s _ages_ ,” Mike groans, “ugh I really don’t wanna go to work alone. It’s gonna be so boring without you dude,” he yawns and throws his arms over his head, lets them hang off the couch.

Van tries to adjust himself on the chair but ends up slipping off, falling to the ground. Mike laughs at him as Van lays sprawled out on the carpeted floor. He’s so fucking tired, tired from a shitty day, from being awake too long, from being tired but not able to sleep. He stretches out on the floor, his singlet rising up over his stomach. Mike rolls over on the couch and pokes Van in the belly, then artfully flicks his joint into the paper bin, a practiced move.

Van conjures up a yawn and props his hands underneath his head. He starts to feel drowsy finally, a dark cloud passing over the moon outside, draping the two men in almost complete darkness, save from the blue lights from the computer. Mike rolls over on the couch, his arm falling freely off the couch, his fingers grazing Van’s thigh.

The last thing Van remembers is Mike speaking between relaxing lips and drool, “don’t smoke all my weed tomorrow.”

 

-

 

The next morning Mike goes off to work albeit reluctantly, and Van still can’t shake this bad feeling. Might have been something to do with the fact that he slept on the floor last night instead of on his actual bed, but it was nothing compared to watching Mike leave their apartment without him. Sure, Mike’s gone to work without him on the odd days of the year when Van gets sick, but it’s not at all the same today.

And he can’t stop thinking about work and Mike and how he might never be allowed to work there again so he sits at the computer desk, Mike’s weed in hand and he tries to watch TV shows. He gets bored of that quickly and tries video games, gets bored of that far too quickly and tries earnestly to smoke Mike’s entire bag of weed instead. But nothing he tries seems to quench his thirst for thrills and he’s gonna have to do it, he’s going to have to clean the house, organise their washing and do the dishes and vacuum the floor, then purposely find dirty things to clean until Mike gets back. He’ll assume the role of the house husband if it means he’s not thinking about anything in particular for eight hours straight except for thinking about how to get that stain off his carpet.

So he’s no professional cleaner but what he gets done is above standard in his books. He doesn’t get to cleaning out the fridge – cut him some slack – that thing’s too disgusting for words. And the bathroom is the only thing on his list for the next day since it’s a full day job. After changing into clean pyjamas, Van belly flops on his bed and feels quite satisfied with his efforts. Maybe becoming a professional cleaner could be something he could try down the road.

He perks up when he hears the front door opening up, and for a second he’s unsure how he should react. He probably should have checked the time so he could be there for Mike, open the door for him, lead him down the hallway and show off his work and start making him dinner like a good butler or whatnot. That’s what butlers do right? All he needs now is the six figure salary to go with the title.

Mike stops at Van’s bedroom door, slips off his shoes and takes out his cap before dropping his bag to the ground. Mike never looks the same without his cap on. Van swears the guy must sleep in his cap because the only time he’s ever seen Mike without a cap on is at work, and that’s only because it’s not part of their uniform.

Van props himself up on his bed, pretending to look seductive, and Mike seats himself on the edge of the mattress.

“How was work honey?” Van asks with a smile.

Mike sighs, “it was okay. Boring. Easy. Nothing special.”

Van pouts, “did ya miss me?”

“Yeah,” Mike says with a sigh. He pushes himself further onto Van’s bed and rolls to face him, hands underneath his head, “Tammy knows now.”

The colour drains from Van’s face. He stares into Mike’s weary eyes. 

“She’s going to review the case. We’ll know her answer tomorrow.”

“Why didn’t you say that first dickbag, I thought you were gonna say I’m gone for good! I still have hope,” Van growls, kicking Mike playfully.

Mike scowls but then smiles warmly, “it’s good to be home.”

Van grins and proceeds to lay punches into Mike. Mike tries to fight back but Van locks his wrists together, teasing his face close to Mike’s hands only to pull back when Mike tries to swipe. Van turns Mike’s watch to him and gasps.

“Shit is it already 8pm? What the fuck?”

“We slept in, I stayed back late to make up for it,” Mike replies, slipping out of Van’s hold.

Mike rolls over on the bed and pulls up the blankets over him.

“Dude what are you doing?” Van asks, trying to pull the blankets off.

“I need to sleep on a bed tonight,” Mike states.

“So sleep in your own bed!”

“No.”

Van tries to tug the blankets off Mike but the guy’s got some kind of death grip on the blankets and they won’t free, and Van’s not so inclined to try and rip the threads apart. He resigns and flops down beside Mike, shuffling in close hoping that his friend will feel some sympathy for him and spare him some blankets at some point. He lies back, stares up at the ceiling and listens to the sound of his best friend falling to sleep beside him. This is how it should be, best friends with each other, close.

 

-

 

In the early morning Mike slinks off to the bathroom and there’s no way to have a quiet shower in their house, so Van’s inevitably woken up by the splashing sound of water, the hissing and clanking of the pipes under the floorboards. He rolls over and the aftertaste of warmth left on his mattress is not something he’s used to. He edges closer to it, naturally seeking out the comfort of the heat, trying in earnest to ignore his morning wood.

The water turns off and Van feels as if he’s the one who’s just had a steaming hot shower, he feels dizzy, light headed. Gravity ejects and he’s falling through the mattress into an abyss, a wall of mattresses surrounding him, caging him in, the soft padding of an asylum cell and Van’s left wondering why on Earth he thought it was a good idea to try and smoke all of Mike’s weed. He parts his eyes slightly, catches a glimpse of Mike walking down the hallway, towel draping loosely over his body and Van has to roll over and press his dick into the mattress, suffocate the life out of it.

Concentrate on breathing. In, out. In, out. Mouth eating pillow, hands clutching the remnants of warmth where his best friend shared the bed and Van starts to disbelieve in the saying that counting sheep was meant to help you calm down. Footsteps shuffle down the hallway and Van feigns sleep, listens intently for the sounds of action. Mike ties up his shoes and picks up his bag and shortly after Van hears the front door open and close.

He rolls over, letting out a gasp of relief. He threads his hand beneath his waistband, wrapping his fingers around his cock and he intends to go slow, intends to flick through his usual fantasies, but somehow his mind keeps trailing back to dicks, but not dicks in a funny way. Specifically Mike’s dick. And he has to force himself to jerk off quickly because he’s thinking of Mike in the shower, wet and slick and coming back to bed naked and clean and gleaming in the morning sunlight. And he crawls on Van’s bed, touch damp and crinkled soft and – Van’s mind goes blank.

He throws his head back on his bed, gasping for air, clutching for the image of a body that isn’t there. He lies on his bed feeling empty and drained and dirty and gross that he thought about his best friend, and Van can’t entirely tell if it was satisfying or not.

Time passes and he gets up and showers, decides that after standing under his make believe waterfall for half an hour, it’s about time he does something productive on Day Number Two. After drying up, he warms up the computer and selects an album and plays it _loud_. Guess the good thing about not having to go to work is that he can really turn his music up because no one’s gonna be bothered by it, they’re all at work! _Suckers_.

The cleaning chemicals are getting pretty low so he gets a tub of vinegar out from the top cupboard, don’t even know why that’s there, not gonna ask why. He mixes it up in water and the rest of the chemicals and sets to work at the bathroom. The bathroom’s pretty rank but seriously, the fridge can wait another day. His made-up solution works surprising well, and he’s able to wash off a considerable amount of grime and mould. At first he felt a little uncomfortable being in there, but the smell his solution put off helps keeping his mind occupied. And the only downside to cleaning everything up is that it fucking stinks. Isn’t it weird that after doing so much cleaning you yourself can feel disgusting? Van really wants to have a shower but he needs to air out the stink of the pseudo-vinegar-cleaning chemical mixture out of the place and he’s not at all prepared to spend another second in there. He rips off his dirty clothes and piles them into their laundry bag – also disgusting – and the first choice of action is to shove his face in the kitchen sink and just let the water run.

Van sits at the computer desk, hair still damp and dripping but it’s so fucking refreshing. He thinks about making a video without Mike but as soon as he starts up the camera he has to switch it off. It’s just not the same without him.

Van eyes the desk drawer. He shouldn’t. He already smoked a lot yesterday. But is there not a better idea to cover his tracks with the scent of grass in the apartment?

 

-

 

Van knew he smoked too much when he started seeing the world swirl into itself, like he’d been looking at one of those optical illusions, but instead of only lasting half a minute, it’s lasted hours. He’s sinking through the floor, a mild vortex compared to his visions. All he can say is that it sure as hell beats reality.

Van hears his name but he’s about 67% sure he imagined it, so he doesn’t move from the carpet, legs sprawled out under the desk, it was for protection okay?

“Vandaveon? Dude, what the fuck did you do?” Mike asks, stepping into the living room, holding his sleeve to his nose.

“What… time is it?” Van asks, trying to roll over but instead he kicks the computer hub, threatening to topple it over.

Mike rushes over and saves it from falling, then squats beside Van, holding his cap over his mouth and nose.

“Fuck, you didn’t…” Mike says, picking up the empty bag of weed.

“I did,” Van says with a grin, then giggles excessively.

Mike sighs and helps his friend up, but ends up practically dragging Van to his bedroom. Mike drops Van on his bed, letting him bounce slightly.

“Fuck dude,” Mike begins, holding his forehead in his hands, “I say good shit about you all day, build up rep that you’re a good guy, working hard on new scripts and shit. And I come home and you’re baked. Beyond baked.”

Van’s mind is still hazy, dust blowing through all the way from the Mojave, “I cleaned the bathroom…”

“What the fuck with? It stinks like the expired medication in my mama’s medicine cabinet.”

Van coughs out a laugh, clutching his chest.

Mike looks away, speaks low, “you gotta stop this. I’m trying to help you but… They respect me now. I’m not gonna lie to my bosses bro. I can’t do it like you can.”

Van’s breathing steadies and he watches his friend, tense on the edge of his bed. The dust blows in and as Mike turns to face him, capless, beard neatly trimmed, uniform ironed and immaculate. How can so much have changed in two days? The wind picks up and Mike is encompassed by a sandstorm as he leaves, a tornado of wind and dust and fragments of ancient rock circulating around him, Mike’s the eye of the storm.

Mike stops in the doorway, the sand whipping through the air around him, the wind carving him a new face, a new presentation. “Ed’s right, you’ve got to find that balance we used to have. Keep work at work, jokes at home.”

Van pulls the blankets over him, “I wanna go back to how we were before.”

“Me too brother, but things have changed and you need to sort yourself out.”

 

-

 

Under the blankets Van is subject to the dark, claustrophobic feeling of the blankets secured around his body, no air escaping in or out. He hears Mike go about his business in the house, he can tell because the roaring sound of the sandstorm is a thunderous hurricane in the walls of their house, shredding away the plaster and the foundations. Mike’s a walking embodiment of change and indifference and disaster, inflicting upon all things that gets in his way.

Van loses consciousness at some point and he wakes up gasping for air, caught in a web of his own making. He kicks off the blankets, crunching his mouth on oxygen and coming to terms with the moonlight shining in through his open window. Time has been arbitrary lately. Two days have felt like two weeks. This single day has felt like an eternity. He’s perpetually bored and perpetually ridiculed for trying to do something good. Van’s not even going to bother attempting to clean the fridge. It’s not worth it. Cleaning the bathroom wasn’t worth it either. Just a big job to keep him busy.

It was good while it lasted, scrubbing grime helped him thinking of nothing but. Lit under the shafts of moonlight filtering through his window Van’s got nothing to do but think. And the more he does the more he feels like a piece of shit, solidifying in the night air.

“Van?” Mike whispers through the darkness.

The sound of Mike’s voice sends a shiver down Van’s spine and he’s wondering if there’s any lasting effects of the weed.

Mike’s voice cracks through the air. “Van, you awake?”

Van sighs, “yeah. Whats you want?”

Mike comes into the room and perches on the edge of the bed, “I’m sorry,”

Van clears his throat, “you were right though. I need to start acting more serious at work, leave the dick jokes for home.”

Mike leans back on the bed, rests his head on Van’s calves, “yeah, Van. This job’s all we got left, we gotta do all we can to keep it.”

“I know,” Van says, “I’ll buy you more weed tomorrow dude.”

Mike chuckles and scoots closer to Van, gets in under the blankets, “don’t, man. It’s good you did it all.”

“I feel bad though,” Van says, tucking the blankets beneath his chin.

Mike seems to shrug but Van can’t really tell, “I’m gonna sleep here tonight,” he states.

Van blinks, “okay?”

Mike’s always been able to sleep like a log. He can nap with the snap of your fingers, he’s the best god damn sleeper Van’s ever seen. So he’s honestly expecting Mike to have fallen asleep right away. Van edges closer to Mike, ever so slightly, enough that he can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the distinct smell of Mike, and he tries to ignore the volcano threatening to explode down there.

“I barely get to see you anymore,” Mike whispers gruffly, a confession, and he slips an arm over Van’s waist, securing him, “I miss being with you.”

 

-

 

Van gets woken up by Mike’s alarm going off in the other room and he’s not entirely sure what to do. Mike’s got him in a vice grip and Van’s not even sure if wriggling around is going to help the situation at all. On one hand he wants to go back to sleep and ignore the alarm, because that would mean the weekend would come a day earlier and he’d be able to spend some quality one on one friend time with Mike. But on the other, he doesn’t want to further jeopardise the good thing Mike has going for him at work what with being a good disciplined worker and all that. Plus, Mike’s probably going to get real mad at him if he doesn’t at least try to wake Mike up.

 “Mike?” Van says softly, then repeats it again when Mike doesn’t budge.

He tries to wriggle around a bit, and speaks louder, but at this, Mike tightens his bear hug.

“Mike – stop – I can’t –” Van cries, exasperated.

Mike finally wakes up and loosens his grip as soon as he realizes what he’s doing to Van.

Van tries to catch his breath, “dude are you tryinta kill me?”

“Sorry.”

“That was your alarm going off before Mike,” Van reminds him.

He expects Mike to get up but he doesn’t, and instead he holds Van a little tighter. He starts to feel something hard poke into Van’s lower back and he’s about 5000% sure what it is. Van cranes his neck to the side, catches Mike’s eyes fluttering shut and the quick inhalation of air before Mike extracts himself from the bed.

“I don’t wanna be late,” Mike says, voice straining.

A fistful of warm sheets in his hand, Van hears the shower switch on and _fuck_ he _cannot_ wait. Thankfully, Mike seems to be having a long shower too, although he’s not sure it would have mattered. He has ample time to jerk off and clean himself up afterward. He feigns sleep again, he’s not exactly sure why, it’s not like he’s hiding from Mike, he just doesn’t know what to say to the guy.

As soon as he hears the front door click shut, Van leaps out of bed. He’s been planning it since he woke up. If Mike’s trying to be a _professional_ professional, then Van’s going to try to as well. He’s got a mission and it means he’s going to channel his dick thoughts, specific dicks or general dicks, any kind of dicks, he’s going to channel them elsewhere and he’s going to start writing for his show again.

The problem was, as soon as he sat down at the computer desk, mind geared on thinking up the best jokes ever… all his jokes revolved around dicks. All of them. Okay, so there were a few vajeeper jokes in there but like, two. And they were probably his worst ones. The thing was, didn’t Mike say that when he’s at work, he’s to get in his mind palace for being a professional and shit, and when he’s at home he can think about dicks all he wants? Yeah, it wasn’t really about whether or not Van should or should not think about dicks, it was more like, there’s a time and place for spouting and doing jokes and whatnot, Ash.

Still, he can’t bring himself to make videos without Mike, so he sets his mind on writing scripts. And seriously though, having his mind clear from drugs and devoid of distractions, he can write some seriously good shit. As the time passes, he becomes more and more excited about the prospect of going through the scripts with Mike when he gets home.

He should have known of course, considering it’s a Friday and all, that Mike was going to be home late. And sure enough, when Mike steps through the front door in the late evening, he’s uber wrecked. He collapses on the couch and Van tries to cheer him up, talks about what he accomplished in the day, starts to print out the scripts and encourages Mike to read them. But he knows what it’s like when you’ve had a tough day, dicks are _always_ funny but they’re not going to make a difference when your mind’s slush from being over-worked.

Instead, Van sets Mike up in Van’s bed – because shit man, where even is Mike’s bed under all those clothes? – and he cooks up Mike a bowl of mac and cheese, the 2 minute kind not the 40 minute kind. He gives Mike space, gives him time to rest and just recuperate, because _fuck_ , he does not miss those peak nights that just go on and on and you can never leave on time because it’s too fucking busy. Van remembers all too well, and he can’t say he’s exactly looking forward to going back to that shtick, but Mike’s right. What else are they going to do? Become professional cleaners? Introducing _Vandaveon & Mike: Critiquing the Cleanliness of your Corners_.

It’s getting late and Van’s not one for staying up til the odd hours of the night. Lately he’s got a history of it, but it’s not like a regular thing. He retires to his bedroom, pleasantly surprised to find Mike snoring away in his bed sheets. He climbs in behind Mike, slipping an arm around him.

Mike stirs, speaks almost inaudibly, “dude I’ve gotta say something.”

“What was that?” Van asks, prompting Mike to roll on his back.

“I’m sorry for treating you like shit, I know you been trying, I seen the way you cleaned up the house and cleaned the bathroom and shit. That’s shit’s amazing and I’m thanking you for it, because I didn’t before.”

“Dude don’t worry about it,” Van says, although it does feel nice to feel validated for his hard work for once.

“And Van, like, I ain’t even been lying to Tammy and Ed when I say you’re improving, you been doing good, like, I mean, beside the smoking my weed I mean I can’t even say anything about that because they’d ask too many questions. But for real, you impress me man. And the best thing? You’re good to go back to work on Monday.”

“For real?” Van exclaims, lighting up.

“For fucking real Van,” Mike replies, grinning.

Van kicks his feet in the air, then swings over Mike straddling him and lays fake punches into his belly.

“You couldn’ts have said that first huh?” Van asks, punching Mike softly.

Mike fakes a fatal blow reaction and then says, “it was the punch line, you gotta say it last.”

“Well what fucking ever, I can’ts believe I’m gonna say this but I’m actually looking forwards to going back to work. It’s so fucking boring at home.”

Mike tries to stop Van from laying punches into him but he’s still quite hazy from his nap and he doesn’t do a very good job. Van slows his punching when he feels something beneath his ass, and he stops altogether, letting Mike catch his hands, when he realizes that, with about 8000% assurance, that he’s got a boner himself.

“Van…” Mike whispers, husky, as Van rolls his hips ever so slightly.

Van’s fingertips start to tingle, the speckly, blood-loss feeling spreading up his arms and legs, heat coiling in his stomach. Mike lets go of Van’s hands and places his own firmly on Van’s waist, securing him in position. Van stretches his fingers to Mike’s ear, traces a finger along the sensitive skin behind his ear, relishes the squirming elicited by that gesture. He dips down, presses his forehead against Mike’s, hot and feverish and when he kisses his friend, Mike’s beard tickles Van’s skin.

It’s Van’s nature to go quickly with these kinds of things, because he wants all of Mike at once. He wants Mike’s tongue in his mouth, grazing his own tongue, he wants his hands touching Mike’s nipples, he wants his mouth on Mike’s mouth at the same time as nipples being between his teeth and it’s frustrating that he can’t be in all places all the time. Van’s got his teeth worrying Mike’s right nipple, his forefinger and middle finger lodged in Mike’s mouth and there’s still not enough friction and the tension in his boxers is ridiculous because they’re _boxers_ for fucks sake, tension’s not in the guidebook.

Between Van’s fingers, Mike is able to say, “easy, go slow.”

His words are a puzzle piece in Van’s mind that don’t click together with what’s already pieced together, as if the majority of the pieces are forced in, forming a picture not quite right. In contrary to Mike’s statement, Van goes to slip his right hand underneath Mike’s boxers, only to be stopped by Mike.

Mike spits out Van’s fingers and says almost sternly, “Vandaveon. Slow it,”

Van’s never seen Mike look at him like that before. Positively stern, yeah, positively. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw set and Van feels the blood gush out of him like a vacuum. He starts to push off the bed, he gets it, he’s gone too far, he’s done too much. Typical Vandaveon Huggins.

Mike grabs onto Van’s arm, “nah man, I didn’t say _stop_. I just wanna go slow, it’s better that way.”

Despite only seconds ago having decided that he’d done the big bad, Van’s cock twitches, blood evidently having not escaped at all from that particular area.

“You wanna…?” Van says, the puzzle pieces all rattled, he’s got to start again.

“yeah, I wanna,” Mike replies, his eyes glassy and lips parted and fuck, Van’s never seen a guy look so fucking hot before.

It’s hard for him, guess because whenever he’s been with a girl he’s always had to get it over with pretty quick. But here with Mike, his best friend in the entire world, he trusts Mike enough to let him lead the way, take it slow as he says. Mike sits up in bed, hoists Van on his lap and he takes Van, kisses him deeply, slowly, like it’s the first and last time they’re ever going to kiss. Van drags his hands over Mike’s head, through his hair, knots in his beard, traces the bare skin on his neck up to his ears and moans into Mike’s throat as he feels Mike cupping his ass through his boxers.

Van breaks the kiss and instead trails kisses down Mike’s neck, kisses his shoulders, works on his nipples. He holds onto Mike’s neck for support and he can feel Mike’s pulse, steady and fast and his breathing’s hitched and hot over his back. Van’s feeling that wash of warmth come over him again and he wants to go fast, fuck, he needs to get off so bad, but Mike’s stringing him along, stretching him out.

Mike pushes him gently back onto the mattress, then pulls off Van’s boxers. Van yelps at the sudden change of temperature, but calms quickly as Mike begins to kiss around his abdomen, drawing trails with his tongue across the folds in his skin, and he’s so close, so fucking close. Mike can sense it, somehow, and he’s always holding Van right at the brink, won’t let him cross that threshold. Mike clambers over Van, kisses him on the lips and the heat between them is intense, molten magma.

Van swallows, gasping, “I’ve gotta get –“ He doesn’t finish, instead he stretches up toward his bedside table and fishes out a condom and a small tub of lube.

When Mike quirks an eyebrow, Van replies with, “hey, I didn’t question why you’d bought a giant tub of vinegar, so don’t ask about this okay?”

“The vinegar was on sale, 90c for 5 gallons.”

Van purses his lips, “yeah well, mine was on special too, now shut up and fuck me.”

Mike can’t help but laugh before he plunges to kiss Van. Van uses the cover of kissing to get a condom rolled on and he relishes the squirming movements Mike made when he rolled the condom on for him.

Mike looks at him a little disgruntled, “how’s this going slow?”

Van catches Mike’s eyes and says flatly, “fuck going slow.”

At that, Van pulls Mike in for a kiss. He digs out a plentiful amount of lube and passes it on to Mike’s fingers, guiding him down to his hole. Mike lines his entrance, his eyes becoming glassy and Van licks his lips, nods. Mike pushes in and it’s cold and hot and painful and wonderful and Van moans loudly, fuck the neighbours. Mike starts to work up a rhythm, inevitably slow as is Mike’s nature, but Van takes a shot at trying to help, guiding Mike to helping him get ready.

Mike kisses Van and it’s breathless air shared between them, both thirsty for each other’s tongues. At this point, Van can tell Mike’s holding himself back, it’s getting harder and Van’s waiting for the release of Mike Taylor.

“I’m gonna –” Mike says, placing Van’s free hand on Mike’s cock.

“Do it,” Van prompts, lifting Mike’s fingers out of his ass.

Mike spreads Van’s legs, shuffles between them and his dick stops at Van’s entrance, prods the flaming skin and Van practically mewls for him to just fucking go for it. Mike presses in and Van wants to kiss him, kiss him on his mouth and all over and he grabs Mike’s free hand, places it in his mouth and sucks on Mike’s fingers as Mike shudders, rolls his hips into Van. Fireworks explode in Van’s body, he’s never felt like this before, never thought this kind of feeling was possible. Mike’s movements are slow and calculated and it’s excruciating, Van wants to scream at him but he can’t make any noises except for moans and desperate mewls, it’s fucking disgusting, he’s turned into a needy child.

Van arches his back and leans into Mike’s movement, forces Mike in deep, steers him into the sweet spot and pray to God Van can have the kind of patience and discipline Mike has in not. Fucking. Coming. Van sucks pointedly on Mike’s fingers and Mike’s sweaty and debauched and Van can’t even look down there, can’t even look at it because he knows if he looks at Mike’s cock disappearing down there he’s going to come, one look at that glorious picture he’s going to lose it. Mike rolls in and scoops Van up, propping him up in a sitting position and Van’s literally sitting on dick. He’ll laugh about it later, right now he’s gotta concentrate on moving with Mike’s rhythm, feeling Mike’s monster, giant ass mother fucking cock in his butthole, pressing against that sweet spot and Jesus how can it be painful to go so slow, to go on so long, it’s amazing, it’s truly awesome.

“Van…” Mike rasps in Van’s ears and he does this twist thrust thing that totally gets Van in all the right ways and Van claws at Mike’s back, biting his shoulder hopefully not too hard and his mind is nothing but the roaring wind of a cyclone on the ocean. The wind slashing the air, slapping the ocean but there’s nothing there, nothing to destroy because the water moves with the wind and everything’s in balance, perfect symmetry with all things natural.

Van feels Mike’s muscles clench and freeze and then shudder in short waves and Mike’s fucking dick fucking _moves_ inside him, fucking twitches and throbs as Mike comes inside him. The both of them fall to the mattress, heaving and barely breathing and hearts throbbing and skin pulsing, shaking, sweating and Van wants to stay like this forever. For ever and ever. Dreams and ambitions aside, golden ticket to heaven won.

After moments, minutes, hours, who knows? Time is arbitrary. Van reaches for his glasses and then collapses back together with his friend. Mike throws his arm over Van, who pretends to be squashed.

“Help me, I can’ts breathe, some motherfuckers dying on top of me!” Van shouts playfully.

Mike throws a leg over Van, further trapping him, “I’m dead, this is me dying.”

Van laughs, trying to get out of Mike’s trap and gives up quite quickly, finding it quite comfortable lying wrapped up in a blanket of Mike.

 

-

 

Van finishes stapling the script pages together and he passes them to Mike.

“I wrotes these yesterday. You wanna go through ‘em with me?”

Mike nods from up on the corner of the couch, scratches his chin. He begins reading the first script and then puts it down, looking at Van with a blank look, “dude it’s just 12 pages of us both saying ‘dick’.”

Van laughs and claps his hands, “yeah dude, it’s funny.”

Mike looks off into the distance and says, “you ever wonder why we joke about dicks so much?”

Van shrugs, bouncing off the office chair and opting to lounge on the couch, “nah man, dicks are just funny.”

Mike kicks Van softly in the shin, then says with a straight face, “yeah but why are all our jokes about dicks?”

Van shrugs again, avoiding Mike’s next kick, “I don’t know man, I guess I love dicks.”

Mike then leans forward, pulls Van by the neck gently closer and kisses him. He lets go and then laughs, “yeah I guess I like dicks too man.” 

**Author's Note:**

> These two are so ridiculous! I've had this story in my head for a while now and i just hope that i was able to get their dialogue to fit with their character.
> 
> (This is also probably about as close as i'll get to writing a Key & Peele RPF again!)


End file.
